Page 160 of The Dixon Rule

“You don’t have to worry,” Blake assures us. “I’m allergic to arrogant men.”

Like Diana warned her, the frat boys become more and more juvenile the drunker they get, but the party doesn’t get as rowdy as I expect. Aside from one Kappa Nu pledge streaking naked down the street and another one jumping off the roof into the backyard pool, it’s fairly tame for a Greek Row kegger.

I dance with Diana and Blake. Chat with Ryder and the guys. I ask Will to join me at the driving range tomorrow morning, and when he says he can’t, Diana tugs on my arm.

“I’ll come with you if you want,” she offers.

“Really?”

“Sure. You were at that club almost every day this summer. I want to see what all the fuss is about.”

Later, we’re watching a competitive game of beer pong in the dining room when Isaac Grant braves Blake’s sharp tongue again and joins us. His biceps flex beneath a black T-shirt with the Briar football logo.

“What do you want for breakfast tomorrow?” he asks Blake.

A frown creases her forehead. “Breakfast?”

He winks. “You’re spending the night at my place—it’s only fair I buy you breakfast.”

“Smooth,” I tell him.

Blake remains unimpressed. “Sorry. I’ve got plans.” She tips her head at Diana. “I think I’ve had enough of this party. Are you ready to go?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

SHANE

Open book

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, I PARK THE CAR IN THE MEMBERS’ LOT AT THE country club and turn to my two companions. Blake crashed at Diana’s condo last night, so she’s tagging along again. The three of us grabbed breakfast—sans Isaac Grant, poor bastard—before heading to the driving range.

“Have you ever been golfing?” I ask Blake.

“Yes.” She purses her lips. “I hate it.”

That doesn’t bode well. And I know for a fact Diana hasn’t. She’s not even dressed for golf. She’s wearing a crop T-shirt and yoga pants that stop above her calves. A blond braid hangs down her back and a pair of big black sunglasses sit on her cute nose.

Blake is taking advantage of the warm September weather in a thin white tank top and tiny denim shorts. They’re not indecent by any means, at least not enough to invite the ire of the country club puritans, but she’ll definitely be drawing some eyes.

Since I only own a set of men’s clubs, we stop at the rental hut first to grab some clubs for the girls.

“I can get it,” Diana offers.

“Nah, it’s on me. I have a membership.”

After the kid in the hut charges the rental to my account, I shoulder both bags as we walk the flower-lined path toward the driving range. The scent of freshly cut grass hangs in the air. We find a far spot away from most of the other golfers.

Diana stares at me expectantly.

“What?” I say as I slide my driver out of the bag. I remove the cover and smooth my hand over the sleek surface.

“You said you were gonna teach me how to golf,” she reminds me.

“We literally just got here.”

“Yeah, and I thought we’d get right down to business.” She pouts. “I expected you to do something really hot.”

“Yeah,” Blake agrees. “I thought you’d lean in real close and put your arms around me very seductively and then whisper, It’s all in the grip.”

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